Sometime After That Quiet Day in Dodge
by domino1957
Summary: Crossover: Gunsmoke and the Wild Wild West


Some Time After That _Quiet Day in Dodge_

The Republican Party, born in the days before the Civil War, found itself fracturing even as the war progressed. By the fall of 1875, those cracks had resulted in a definite split between two factions. Both the Stalwarts and Half-Breeds, led by their respective political bosses, had political ambitions extending all the way to the White House. To the dismay of many Republicans, and in fact, many Americans, President Ulysses Grant was indicating that he would be more than willing to lead his party's ticket to victory a third time in the election to be held in the next year. To many, the prospect of breaking the two-term tradition established by George Washington was unthinkable; that Grant was the man who might do it, was appalling.

Ulysses Grant, so far in his career, had been a success only at war and had, in fact, presided over the two most corrupt administrations in America's history. The abilities and characteristics that had allowed him to wage a victorious campaign in the last bit of unpleasantness seemed to have deserted him once he became Commander-in-Chief. Yet, old soldiers were loyal with their support and their votes; it was a very real possibility that Grant might win again. It was a future at which reforming elements in the Republican Party shuddered.

The President, unable to send out cavalry to reconnoiter the lay of the land and the position of the enemy, chose instead to travel the country by rail to measure the extent of his popularity and as a result, his chances. An itinerary was plotted out that included large cities, small towns and frontier outposts. It was Grant's intent to rally both civilian and military support and thereby convince the bosses that he was, indeed, the man of the hour.

In a small dimly lit office, deep in the bowels of the Capitol, a group of men made plans to derail the President's campaign train. Sworn to secrecy, known only to each other, called to meetings with the symbol 'X," they vowed that Grant would not serve a third term. Short of murder, any course of action was possible. The upcoming cross-country trip seemed the logical place to start. They would use the death of Lincoln and the general conspiracy associated with it to convince the President that such a trip was unsafe. All that was needed was evidence.

Since Lincoln's assassination, greater notice had been taken of threats to government officials. Once the President's itinerary had been established, messages bearing only the letter 'X" were delivered. In a smoke-filled room, the members poured over files of letters, newspaper articles and telegrams that had been carefully saved in an attempt to match any irregularities to Grant's stops. Anything was considered a legitimate threat deserving investigation. The Secret Service was then put into action.

"I'm a-tellin' yuh, Doc - it's gotta be one of them there private trains- "

"-Now what in thunder would a private train be doin' out in the middle of no

where -"

"-What's this about a private train? -" Three beers appeared on the table along with a pot of coffee.

"-Much obliged, Miz Kitty"

"-"You're welcome, Festus-"

"-Thanks, Kitty. Oh, Festus here says he saw a private train somewhere east of town-"

"-I tolt yuh, Doc, it was down next to that hole where we caught all them catfish 'bout a month ago-"

"-What's a private train doin' in Dodge, Doc?-"

"-Ask Festus." He passed on his beer which was quickly snapped up by Festus and poured a cup of coffee instead.

The mystery remained unsolved through the three beers. All was not wasted as a course of action was decided. "Me an' ol' Newly'll just take us a ride out yonder and have us a look-see." said Festus, swallowing the last of his beer. "Be seein' ya, Miz Kitty-"

"-Now just hold on a minute," barked Doc. "I thought you had to be in charge today since Matt was gonna be late getting' back from Hays-"

"-I didn't say we wuz a-goin' out right this blame minute, yuh ol' scutter-" Festus' voice trailed off into a grumble as he left them with a nod of thanks to the woman and a glare at the doctor. He was so annoyed that Doc would think he would neglect his duties as deputy that he totally missed the wink that passed between his friends. He clomped out of the Long Branch and turned in the direction of the jail.

Doc Adams smiled and wiped his hand across his mustache; his daily mission of irritating the deputy had been accomplished. Kitty, having exchanged her beer mug for a smaller cup, smiled back at him and shook her head in mock disapproval over her coffee.

"Say, Kitty, I've got something here to show you," he said, fishing in his pocket for a battered newspaper.

"If it's about the President coming to Dodge City, I already know about it." She sipped her coffee.

It was Adams' turn to be annoyed. "I supposed Festus told you about it, too?"

"Noooo." She smiled again. "Nathan Burke yelled it across Delmonico's this morning over breakfast. Seems like everyone in Dodge knew about it before you did, Doc."

The old doctor humphed and replaced the newspaper. "If Burke hollered it out, everyone did know. I'm surprised I didn't hear it up in the office." He finished his coffee and fished out a few coins. "When's Matt supposed to get back?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "The last I heard, sometime tomorrow morning. The trial finished a day late or he'd have been here this morning. Maybe he'll know something about the mysterious train?"

"Don't count on it." Adams dropped the coins on the table and stood to leave. "I'll see you later, Kitty."

"Bye, Doc."

Throughout the entire morning's conversation, no one except Sam had paid any attention to the shabbily dressed man sweeping out the saloon. Other than giving him simple directions, even Sam had ignored him, categorizing him as just another old timer down on his luck. He appeared to ignore the customers and concentrated on his broom and then on removing chairs from the tables. He timed his work so that he was finished as the doctor stood to leave. He placed the broom against the bar and held out his hand for the previously agreed upon four bits. Sam, wiping glasses behind the bar, surveyed the room and nodded his approval. He took the money from the cash drawer and dropped it into the man's grimy hand. "Nice job. Sure you won't come back this evening?" Both Sam and Kitty had found that while Louis Pheeters was good help when sober or in need of a bottle, he was not available on a daily basis since he had to sleep off his hard earned binge. Money clenched in his fist, the man shook his head and he limped from the saloon. Sam shrugged and resumed his own work.

The "old timer" casually made his way to the back of the livery stable where a horse was tethered. As he rounded the building, the limp miraculously disappeared from his stride which also lengthened. He stood straighter and began to shed the outer remnants of his clothing, stuffing it quickly into his saddlebags. Within a few moments, he appeared to be more of a match for the fine blaze-faced chestnut he mounted. Settling a clean hat on his head, he eased the horse along the back side of the livery and headed east out of town.

A short ride later brought him to a private train. The engine and wood car pulled only a box car and a carriage. At the present time, the train was resting on an unused siding near the river, the engine barely emitting smoke. He tied the horse to the back of the carriage and entered. Dropping his hat on the table, he snorted in disgust. "Well, so much for secrecy. Everyone in town knows about the President's visit, Jim."

This comment was addressed to another man who was casually lounging on a small settee reading a telegram. "Pick up anything else, Artie?" he asked while reading.

"Only that the marshal isn't due back into town until tomorrow morning sometime and his deputy has seen the train…" said the first man, settling himself in a chair. "What does that telegram say again, Jim?"

Obliging, the second man read the message:

"To: James West, Artemus Gordon

From: Percival Hopgood

Secret - stop - assess possible security situation in Dodge City, Kansas - stop - can available law enforcement maintain Grant's safety - stop - Attorney General notified of possible risk - end"

"Not much to go on, is it?" said Gordon. " Dodge seemed peaceful enough. The marshal even has a deputy to watch over things while he's gone. The deputy looks kind of rough but I think he's sharper than he appears. I wonder what brought the marshal to the attention of the Attorney General. Usually unless those fellows shoot someone by mistake or get killed, they don't get noticed."

"I know, " agreed West. "Spotted the train, huh?"

Gordon nodded. "Yes, and that conscientious deputy is planning to ride out this way as soon as the marshal gets back. In fact, the talk was that the marshal might even spot us himself on his way back from Hays City."

"We should be able to fix that problem. The train can move through town late tonight and find another siding on the other side of town." West appeared to be thinking out loud. "We can check things out, including the marshal, and be headed to Denver by tomorrow afternoon."

"There's a saloon…I think it was called the Long Branch. From what I could pick up, it seems to be popular with some of the marshal's friends: the town's doctor and a red-haired woman in the saloon. The bartender was willing to give me a job…it might be a place to start."

"The Long Branch…"

It was early afternoon when the old timer appeared again in the Long Branch. Sam, dreading another night of doing all the work himself, brightened considerably upon seeing him. "Change your mind?" he asked of the old man.

"Hmph…." said the disguised Gordon. "Four bits for a bit of work's a heap of money. Reckon I'll take the job if you've still got it."

"It's yours, Mr. - ?"

"Smith."

"Sure." Sam had known lots of "Smiths. "Hold on, just a minute." He went to a door at the end of the bar and knocked. "Miss Kitty, could you come out a minute."

A rustling of skirts could be heard even through the door. The red-haired woman Gordon had seen earlier in the day appeared. Gordon removed his hat and stood, head down. "What is it, Sam?"

"This is Mr. Smith. I've hired him as swamper."

She nodded. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smith. You did a nice job here this morning." She eyed his clothing. "You told him that the permanent job paid six bits a day, didn't you, Sam?"

The bartender raised his eyebrows and then smiled. "Not yet, Miss Kitty."

The old man raised his eyes to hers. "Obliged, ma'am."

"Well, the evening's work starts at eight sharp. There's no drinking on the job and pay day is every Monday. Every week you work a full week, there's a dollar bonus."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll be back this evening." And with that, Artemus Gordon, alias, Mr. Smith, of the United States Secret Service got himself a real job.

As Gordon walked down Front Street, he saw his partner riding into town. He sighed heavily. He'll never learn. It's the _Secret_ Service, Jim, he thought, shaking his head. James West, with that flashy black horse and silver trimmed saddle stuck out like sore thumb among the working folks of Dodge City. Oh well, Gordon thought, he can't bring the horse in the saloon; maybe it won't matter if we need to talk. He wandered on back to the livery stable where he had arranged a place to sleep with his own horse, finer points also disguised.

West drew rein at the small brick jail and dismounted. Inside, he found a disheveled man pinned to a shiny star, feet propped on the desk, hat tipped to hide eyes that were deep in an afternoon nap. West shut the door with a little more force than was required. The sudden noise resulted in the deputy nearly being thrown on to the desk by the swivel chair as it unbalanced when his feet hit the floor.

West smiled. "I'm looking for the marshal." he said, watching while the deputy collected himself.

"He ain't here." grumbled the deputy, embarrassed to be caught napping and then remembering his manners, "I'm his deputy, Festus Haggin. What kin I do fer yuh?" Suspiciously, he eyed his visitor as West took a step into the office.

"My name is West. James West. I'm an agent with the United States Secret Service and I'm here to ask the marshal some questions."

"What about?" The deputy stared at West through narrowed eyes.

"When do you expect him back?"

"Tomorrow mornin' mos' likely. What's yore name agin?"

West refused to answer. "Thanks." He turned and left the office without a backward glance. Festus followed him to the door and watched from the window as West mounted his horse and made his way up the street to the livery. Then, cautiously, he edged out the door himself to keep an eye on West.

It was early evening when West and Gordon met back at the train to compare notes.

West watched absently as Gordon did some touch -up work on his disguise. "So what have we got, Artie?" he asked, wondering for at least the tenth time that day why they were in Dodge City.

"You've got me, Jim." said Gordon, concentrating on getting his mustache on straight. "Everything I've heard says this Marshal Dillon is an exemplary lawman. Oh, there were some complaints but mostly from saloonkeepers who had to keep fairly regular hours and honest poker games. He can't be bought or bribed. Doesn't drink more than an occasional beer. May spend his nights with a Miss Kitty Russell - the red-head who owns the Long Branch, remember?"

"Your boss?" West asked.

Gordon nodded.

"I didn't find out much either. The old doctor, Adams, I think?" "He was pretty closed-mouth - basically told me to mind my own business. There was a man at the freight office named Burke, who had plenty to talk about but nothing to say. Bodkin, the banker, was pretty stiff but seemed to think the marshal did an "adequate" job. That deputy spent the day ducking around corners trying to see what I was up to."

Gordon sighed. "I think I'll send a telegram to Washington to try to get a firm lead as to who complained to the attorney general about Dillon. Maybe one of us can talk to the direct source and stop this guesswork."

"Good idea. Have it sent to me in Dodge. Maybe there will be an answer to it when I get back to town.

"Say, shouldn't you be going to work? I'll check out the Long Branch a little later. I'd like to see this red-head. After all, there is a Delmonico's in town…"

At this, Gordon turned to hide his smile. He'd learned something else about the marshal that his partner was going to have to find out for himself.

That evening at the Long Branch, it was business as usual. A card game went on quietly in the corner table. Several cowhands drank at the bar while regular customers occupied their evening chairs. The new swamper hardly drew a glance as he went about his work of picking up empty mugs and straightening chairs.

Kitty sat with Doc Adams at their usual table in the back. Nursing a beer, he appeared distracted. "What's the matter with you tonight, Curly?" she asked, nudging his arm.

"Wha- Oh, Kitty. Oh, I was just thinkin' about that fellow from the Secret Service who came to talk to me today."

"Secret Service?" She was impressed. "What did he want, Doc?"

Not wanting to worry her unnecessarily, he tried to evade the question. "Oh, nothing. Just wanted to know about Dodge - the president's coming, you know."

She was not fooled and her voice told him so. "What did he _really_ want, Doc?"

Adams was saved from answering by the arrival of Festus. The deputy dropped into a chair, exhausted. Tipping back his hat, he mopped his brow and let out a loud whistle of breath between his teeth. "I'll tell ya somethin', ol' Matthew had better get himself back mucha pronto -"

"Why's that, Festus? This deputyin' too much for you?" Adams was at it again.

Festus glared at the doctor. "Waal, I been chasin' all over town after that there Secrety Service feller - I tell ya, fer a little feller, he shore duz get around."

"Secrety Service?" She signaled to Sam who brought Festus a beer. Festus nodded thanks to the woman and drank half the beer before setting it down. No one at the table noticed that Smith, the swamper, was paying particular attention to their corner of the saloon.

"It's _Secret_ Service" growled Adams. "Where'd he go?"

"All over, like I done tolt ya. He talked to pert'near ever'body - Burke, Mr. Bodkin at the bank, Mr. Lathrop - even Hank at the stable - "Festus stopped abruptly as the batwing doors of the saloon parted. "There he is now."

Kitty looked. A man, dressed in a neat, tight fitting suit with a short jacket such as she'd seen the young Creole men of New Orleans wear, surveyed the crowd and then crossed over to the bar. "Excuse me." she said to Doc and Festus. Standing, she smoothed her skirt and went to meet him.

Absorbed in reading labels on the shelves behind the bar, it was a moment before he noticed her. She cleared her throat to get his attention. "Is there something special I can get you?"

He turned and she was faced with a remarkable pair of blue eyes. "Oh, thank you very much…but only if you allow me to buy you a drink as well…Miss?"

"Russell. Kitty Russell." she said smoothly. He really was quite good looking. "But you can keep you money. I own the Long Branch.

Sam, two whiskeys." she ordered.

Sam reached under the bar for a special bottle and poured their drinks.

"Thank you, Miss Russell."

"You're welcome -" She knew good and well who he was but chose to play the lamb.

"West. James West."

"Oh, you're the Secret Service agent Festus and Doc were talking about."

West nodded. "I'm here investigating whether or not the marshal can do his job. President Grant is coming to Dodge City, you know."

She stiffened at this slight to Matt Dillon's ability and her eyes flashed. "I wouldn't worry about that, Mr. West. Matt Dillon keeps everyone in this whole town safe; he can take care of one President."

West shook his head. "Someone complained to the Attorney General. … Said the marshal wasn't doing his job" He pulled a telegram out of his jacket pocket to refresh his memory. "Wanted the attorney general to "abrogate his prerogatives - "

"What?" Something flashed across Kitty's memory. "Wanted the attorney general to do what?" She looked back and gestured for Doc to join her.

West obliging repeated for the both of them. "Abrogate his prerogatives."

"Does that sound familiar to you, Doc?"

The old man scratched his head and pulled his ear. Then he laughed out loud. "So that's what this is all about?" They both looked at him quizzically. "Miss Pry…Don't you remember, Kitty? That time she got locked in the safe?"

Kitty rolled her eyes. Of course! She smiled broadly. "Mr. West, would you like to sit down with us? We'd like to explain about this "threat" you're investigating." Still puzzled, West picked up his drink and followed them to the table where the deputy sat.

Once everyone was seated, Smith edged closer.

After a few minutes, West nor "Smith" could believe theirs ears. "You mean we were sent all the way to Dodge City, Kansas for this?" West eyed the three at the table to see if they were putting him on. It was hard to imagine one small boy causing so much trouble.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. West," said Kitty. "You see, everyone thought that the little boy was locked in the safe and it was really Miss Pry-

"Yeah, an' the little scamp should've been left there, iffen you ask me," grumbled Festus remembering his embarrassment at being handcuffed and gagged by the boy. To his relief, that was one story the others did not know.

"No one was quite sure how she got in the safe, but she sure was mad at Matt when he let her out," chuckled Doc. "So she was serious when she said she was going to report him and I guess she really did know the attorney general." He looked at Kitty and they both burst out laughing again at the memory of the look on the marshal's face when Miss Pry uttered her threat.

"Wait until Matt hears about this -"

"Hears about what?" They all looked up in surprise. The marshal was back early.

After acknowledging their hellos, he repeated his question.

"Oh, uh, Matt, this young man is Mr. James West of the United States Secret Service," began Doc, wiping tears from his eyes. "Mr. West, meet Marshal Matt Dillon of Dodge City."

West, whose back had been to the marshal, smiled at them, stood and turned to face him. He was eye-level with the man's badge. Swallowing hard, West looked up without tilting his head. "Good evening, Marshal." His plans for the evening with Miss Russell quickly faded.

Dillon nodded. West's hand disappeared in his own. "Evening. What's the Secret Service doing in Dodge City?"

"Smith" had to hurriedly push his broom to another part of the floor to stop himself from laughing out loud at the look on West's face. And Jim thought he was going to get the girl again. He shook his head in amusement. He'd have to have a ladder to even look the man in the eye.

Dillon joined the group at the table and explained over a beer that he'd been able to get away from Hays sooner than expected. He then heard of the day's adventures from the rest and punctuated the story by rolling his eyes and shaking his head. When they were finished, he and West stood to leave. "Well, Mr. West, I hope you've got the answer you needed. We'll be glad to have the president in Dodge. I suppose he'll be as safe here as any place else."

"I'm sure he will, Marshal," agreed West. He gave a half bow to Kitty. "Maybe I'll be along with him."

She smiled. That West was a cocky one.

After they had gone, Doc swiped his mustache and gave a half smile. "It's nice to know the federal government pays attention to all those letters people write. Our tax dollars at work, I suppose."

Kitty smiled. "Do you suppose someone ought to tell Miss Pry? Getting this kind of action from a letter to her 'good friend the attorney general' probably would make her day."

Doc shook his head. "Think of all the other letters she might write. Matt doesn't deserve it." He peered at Festus over his beer. "Now, if _Festus_ was the marshal…that's another story! He was rewarded with an indignant glare from the deputy who stood and paced out of the saloon and into the night.

"You need to quit bein' so hard on Festus, Doc. You enjoy it too much." said Kitty in a scolding voice.

"I do, don't I?" And they both laughed again.


End file.
